Chapter 5
“W
hy are ye so quiet, lady?” Mister Kerr asked her as they walked upstairs to her chambers.
“Mmm? Och, naught, Kerr. I-I am tired, ’tis all. Ye can sleep in the parlor in front of the fire if ye like. The innkeeper thought we were married. That’s why he gave us one bedchamber…”
Kerr scowled. “He must be blind to think a lady like ye would be married to the likes o’ me. I will make shift on me own account, Lady Meria. Dinnae fash about where I spend the night. It would no’ do to set tongues waggin’ if we spent the night behind a closed door.”
Barely suppressing a deep sigh, Meria said, “If ye dinnae come right, wake me. We can always leave the door ajar. It’s no’ likely anyone would try to step over ye if they dared to enter.”
He gave a gruff laugh. It encouraged her to continue.
“Kerr…how long have ye lived at MacTavish Castle? I see there is another plaid stitched under yer toorie.”
“I’m a soldier for hire, lady. I follow the gold.
But to answer yer question, I have no’ been working for yer future husband for more than a week.
I guess that makes me the ideal person for fetchin’ ye.
They must consider me less of a soldier an’ more of an errand boy too.
” He bowed and wished her a good night, a wry smile on his face.
Meria reached out her hand. She wanted to touch his arm to comfort him, to tell him that he was not the monster—that it was his master, Laird MacTavish, who was a murdering brute—but Kerr had already turned away from her and was heading back downstairs.
Her hand hung in the air for a moment, and then she went inside.
Meria bolted the door behind her instinctually, not because she feared her traveling companion, but because she needed peace and quiet to think about what she had heard.
It was all starting to make sense to her now: the single escort, denying her the chance to bring servants, refusing her the possibility of writing a letter home after her arrival. Hamish MacTavish, the man her father had bonded her to in marriage, was an old brute!
Meria paced from one side of her bedchamber to the other, wringing her hands and then biting the back of her knuckles.
What can I do? What can I do? When I get there, I’m as good as married.
My father pledged his bond that I would wed the laird after my arrival.
If I try to postpone the ceremony or show my reluctance, Hamish MacTavish will sense something is wrong.
He might even murder me if I try to escape like some of those poor slaves girls. What shall I do?
There was no chance of sleep. Sleep was for people who were not headed toward disaster.
Meria decided the only thing she could do was run away.
Escape her escort and make sure she did everything in her power not to be delivered to Hamish MacTavish like a sacrificial lamb.
She would head for the coast; that seemed to be a safe bet.
Maybe she could book passage on a ship and make her way to Edinburgh.
Laird MacTavish and her father would never think to look for her on a boat.
She would make her getaway, even if Kerr alerted the lairds and they had the roads blockaded or watched.
Meria looked down at her hand and noticed she had gnawed away the fingernails.
Her wee traveling chest had not been unpacked; an ostler could saddle her mare for her in the blink of an eye.
Forget freezing rain and pitch-black night—she would enjoy better weather down south once she arrived in Edinburgh or Perth.
Finally, she felt in control of her destiny. She would leave a note for Kerr. It was not his fault he had started working for a terrible person, after all. If he had only been at the castle for a few days, how would he know his master was a beast?
Her outer garments had dried over the fireguard.
Throwing her cloak over her shoulders and pulling up the hood, she hefted the chest under her arm and checked her purse was still in her pocket.
Meria knew she must pay the innkeeper before she departed.
The note she had written using the writing supplies in her chest and then placed on the bed read:
Dear Mister Kerr -
I hope you can read this. I am not sure if soldiers can read; their work is with weapons, not books.
On the chance that you take this to a scribe to read aloud for you (I pray the man does not charge you too much for the task - I will leave a penny under the seal for you to pay him with) I must tell you that I cannot marry Hamish MacTavish.
I know he will attack Calvin estate when he finds out, so I am not returning home either (I tell you this so you do not waste your time retracing our steps).
I would not return home anyhow, because my father has not been kind to me since my mother died.
I thank you for escorting me thus far, Kerr. I hope the next laird you work for has a chance of getting into heaven because your current one most certainly does not!
Your traveling companion,
Meria Calvin
The noise coming from the taproom was so loud that Meria knew her escort would not hear a thing. He was either inside the alehouse carousing with everyone else, or he would be asleep in the hayloft. She must ask the ostler to be quiet when he saddled Clara, her mare.
It was pitch dark outside her room on the landing. Meria slid her hand along the wainscoting to feel her way without falling, but she fell anyway.
“Agh!” Her foot caught on a large lump lying across the landing passage. She felt a strong hand reach out and grab her by the ankle. A voice she recognized spoke in a lazy drawl. “Och, lass, whither are ye going?”
What compassion she had been feeling for Kerr disappeared in a flash. “None o’ yer business! I’m goin’ out for a stroll. Go back to sleep.”
She felt him sit up, but he did not let go of her ankle as he leaned back against the landing wall. “Ye wouldnae be thinking about escaping the inn an’ leaving me to face auld MacTavish’s wrath all on me own, would ye now?”
Meria could not lie, but nor did she feel as though this man deserved an explanation. “Whither I go is none of yer blasted business! Let go of me leg or else…”
Silence, then his drawling voice—this time with a hint of amusement in it—said in the darkness, “Or else what? Ye’ll scream?”
Desperation seized her. She tried to kick his hand off her, but it made no difference.
Meria thought hard. If she pretended to surrender, he would not realize how determined she was to leave the inn.
She heaved a theatrical sigh. “Och, very well. Have it yer way. I’m tired and feel like turning in for the night. I bid ye good night.”
A firm hand grabbed the chest out from under her arm. “Allow me to carry yer goods for ye, lady.”
Meria gritted her teeth but managed to say in a casual voice, “By all means.” They entered the parlor, and in the light of the fire, she gestured toward the sideboard. “Place it there. That will be all.” She went to the door and opened it, waiting for him to leave. He did not.
“The thing is, lass, I need a good night’s rest, and if I’m no’ mistaken, ye cannae wait for me to fall asleep so ye can step over me again an’ make for the stables…”
Meria fantasized about picking up the stool next to the fireplace and throwing it at her escort’s head, but she knew from what she had witnessed in her father’s hall that Kerr moved with such speed, it was uncanny.
“If I say I will not leave, ye cannae suppose I will.” She did not want to plead, but her words sounded as if she were. “I was homesick, that’s all. Ye cannae blame a girl for wanting to return to her loving home.”
He ignored her and pushed open the door to her bedchamber. “Well, will ye look at this…” Meria heard his voice coming out of her chamber. “A sealed letter addressed to me.”
She darted into the room, but it was too late. He was reading it. As Meria watched, the man began smiling. “I’m touched, lass, truly I am, but there really is no need for me to use yer penny. This letter kind of makes me rethink yer blandishments about missin’ yer home.”
Meria could think of nothing to say, and just stared daggers at him.
He left the parlor briefly and came back in with the saddlebags he had been using for a pillow. He removed a thin cord from one saddlebag and beckoned her over to the bed. A stubborn look descended onto her face, but her escort was unmoved. He just waited, holding the rope.
“I can hardly sleep in all me traveling attire,” Meria said in a triumphant tone.
He shrugged. “I ken naught about women’s clothing, lady. I dare say a good amount of comfort can be had from sleeping in yer corsetry.” He proceeded to loop the cord around her waist and then tied the end to his wrist as if it was the most natural thing in the world to tie a woman to his body.
“Come on,” he said, lying back against her nice clean pillows and placing his muddy boots on the linen covers—a sure sign that he wanted to stay ready in case he needed to run after her.
He patted the side of the bed next to him.
“Or stand there all night. Who knows, doing that might be as comfortable as sleeping in yer corsets.”
He promptly closed his eyes and seemed to fall back to sleep.
Meria would rather have been tied to a sleeping dragon.
She had a strong feeling that a dragon would be easier to escape from.
This man… She ground her teeth with rage.
She had no words to describe the swing her emotions had undertaken when she knew he would thwart her plans.
It’s no’ him that’s about to enter the lion’s den and then be forced to marry the lion! It looks like he is prepared to guard me like a watchdog to make sure he delivers me to MacTavish in one piece.
There was nothing else she could do for tonight. It was still raining outside, and the landscape would be sodden and slippery, not to mention dark. Perhaps she should gather her wits about her and wait for a break in the bad weather. Meria crawled over her escort’s legs and moved to lie beside him.
Me first night with a man, an’ I’m bound to him like a naughty child.
She turned on her side and leaned on her hand to look at his face in the firelight.
He was arrestingly good-looking; it was such a pity he worked for a scoundrel.
An idea came to her. She had gold in her chest. She would offer it to him tomorrow, and he would let her go.
He was a poor soldier, a mercenary. He would take her money and thank her for it.
He might even escort her to the nearest port!
Without even realizing what she was doing, Meria reached over and moved a strand of his hair off his face.
“Thank ye, lass,” he said without opening his eyes. “That lock of hair was irritating the life out o’ me.”
She gave a little scream and then turned her back on him, but not before saying, “Why d’ye always have to be where I least want ye, doin’ the thing I least want ye to do, Kerr?”
He gave a sleepy chuckle and left Meria to fume in the dark.